


Disaster that was Me

by VendelynSilverhawk



Series: Raise 'Em on Rhythm and Blues (Side-stories for Shiphard) [1]
Category: Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Antonia Stark - Freeform, F/M, Not Slash, One Night Stands, Rule 63, Toni Stark - Freeform, Tony is a girl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 17:48:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3298679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VendelynSilverhawk/pseuds/VendelynSilverhawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"When Toni’s message from space arrives, a brief soundbite announcing that she’s joined the Guardians of the Galaxy- Natasha updates her S.H.I.E.L.D. logs on extraterrestrials really fast- it is Steve’s breaking point. He officially joins S.H.I.E.L.D.’s special forces Strike team- which Nick was practically begging him to do, begging being sending Hill repeatedly with offers- and Natasha starts unobtrusively funneling more of her time towards S.H.I.E.L.D. than the Avengers. Technically she and Clint are still their agents, and merely freelance with the Avengers when time allows, but frequently Clint is the only Avenger on S.H.I.E.L.D. payroll who actually shows up for fights.<br/>Then Natasha joins Strike, too."</p><p>A prequel to Shiphard's "3490 Meet 199999." One-night stand shenanigans ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disaster that was Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shiphard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiphard/gifts).



> This is the untold story of how James Rogers was conceived, based on Shiphard's "3490 Meet 19999," which you should all check out. Even if you haven't read it, however, this story can be read with no prior knowledge and still be considered pretty good, easy to understand, etc.

Whoever said one-night stands were supposed to be simple with no strings attached had clearly never met the disaster that was me.”   
― Cora Carmack, _Losing It_

*

“…past several weeks there has been a conspicuous absence of the Avengers in the public eye-”

 *

“Not sure, John, but it appears as though Captain America and Iron Man have had a super-sized falling out…”

 *

“This is CNN reporting that there were only _six_ Avengers at the recent offensive against an undercover A.I.M. cell right here in Seattle, notably absent were members Black Widow, Captain America, and Iron Man, leading the public to wonder-“

 *

_Watchers for the Watchers_

by Imari Santiago, columnist, Washington Times

In the grand scheme of things, it seems as though the world will always need superheroes, always need intelligence agencies like S.H.I.E.L.D. that lurk in the dark, need national secrets. As long as there are super-powered threats to humanity, we will need equally powered response teams to stop them.

                But then, who’s there to stop the response team?

                No one has doubted, over the past few weeks, the abilities of the ever-shifting roster of the New York-based superhero team the Avengers, yet the public isn’t as naïve as some- like Nick Fury- would like them to be, not since the Battle of New York. That means that we haven’t missed the gaping hole left right in the middle of a team normally consisting of Captain America, Iron Man, Quicksilver and Scarlett Witch, Thor, the Hulk, and Falcon, not counting in-and-out members like Wasp, Ant-man, Wolverine, Captain Marvel, and Spiderwoman.

                The world today isn’t one of nuclear energy or imperialism. It’s an age of superheroes. So what happens when those superheroes fall prey to all-too-human problems?

                The absence of Captain America and Iron Man, arguably the founding members and linchpins of the team, has shot the public to the core.

Continue on B3

 *

_“What the hell, Toni?” Steve yelled, ripping off his helmet and stalking towards her without regard to the smoking ruin around them. “What was that?”_

_Toni crossed her arms, face plate on the armor flipped up so that Steve’s glazing eyes could scorch her in all their glory. As usual, the Stark genius seemed unaffected._

_“Um, me saving all of us and the population of this frankly adorable little town?”_

_Steve paused, blinking at her in disbelief._

_“_ That’s _what you think that was?”_

_“Yes?”_

_“So I’m guessing you didn’t see the_ massive energy beam _about to blow a hole in your stomach,” Steve said tightly. His shield thudded to the ground beside him, covered in a black scorch mark that looked like the closest thing Toni had ever seen to denting vibranium._

_“I-”_

_“I get that you love your solo act, Toni, but we talked about this, and the team can’t afford-”_

_“I’m sorry, can’t afford what?” Toni cut him off, jaw tight. “Me cutting our fight short by, I don’t know, a few_ hours _? You weren’t going to say ‘solo heroics,’ were you, Steve?”_

_Steve paused- that was a dangerous tone coming from Toni. Before he could say anything she had plowed on, and the rest of the Avengers had finally caught on to the fact that their “leaders” were having an argument instead of making out post-battle as they were wont to do._

_“Because if you pull that bullshit on me I’ll force you to read every SSR report from the 40s, when Phillips’ golden child couldn’t follow an order if it bit him on the nose.”_

_Clint quickly looked away and kept ferrying civilians away from the blast zone that used to be a bakery- and beneath that, an A.I.M. factory. Thor said something that no one listened to about clearing up the clouds before rain could leak debris and leftover toxins into waterways, shooting into the air with a whirl of mjolnir and a flash of red. Sam preoccupied himself with finding wherever Bruce ended up after returning to normal size and color._

_“This isn’t about me!” Steve exploded, striding forward and looking like he wanted to take Toni’s shoulders, but stopping himself before touching her._

_“Then what is it about?” Toni screamed. The arc reactor on her chest send a blue glow across Steve’s warped features._

_Natasha watched._

_“It’s about you constantly putting all of us in danger by pulling these stunts!” Steve said in a voice that brokered no argument. “I can’t- What am I supposed to think when I’m battling one second and the next I look over and see you about to get hit with something you won’t bounce back from? It’s terrifying, Toni-”_

_“Then maybe it’s what your friends felt during the war, huh? Look, there Steve goes again jumping into an exploding building, guess we’ll just wait here and hope he doesn’t die!” Toni yelled. “I made the most efficient choice at the time, Steve, and that won us the battle. That makes it worth it!”_

_“Not if it means losing you!” Steve said, and this time he did touch her, looked terrified that if she took another step back she would disappear forever. “You can’t, you-”_

_Shaking him off, Toni let her visor fall back over her face._

_“Screw you and your rules, Rogers. Maybe I’ll listen when you start taking your own advice,” Toni snapped. Then her thrusters were on full and she was shooting into the sky, leaving Steve and the rest of the Avengers alone._

_Steve stalked off with something muttered about searching for usable files in the factory’s sub-basement. Natasha followed wordlessly, ignoring the beep on her S.H.I.E.L.D. communicator that meant Fury wanted her to come in._

Later, Nick.

 *

It’s been three weeks, and Steve still isn’t talking to the Avengers except when Sam checks in every once and a while, and when Clint gets a glance of him around S.H.I.E.L.D. and is able to tell the remaining Avengers that yes, Steve is alive, but no, it doesn’t look like he’s coming back any time soon.

                Meanwhile, the world waits with bated breath for Captain Rogers and Toni Stark to reappear after what is assumed to be a leaders-butting-heads quarrel. It’s almost funny, considering that it’s literally just a super-powered breakup.

                When Toni’s message from _space_ arrives, a brief soundbite announcing that she’s joined the Guardians of the Galaxy- Natasha updates her S.H.I.E.L.D. logs on extraterrestrials r _eally_ fast- it is Steve’s breaking point. He officially joins S.H.I.E.L.D.’s special forces Strike team- which Nick was practically begging him to do, begging being sending Hill repeatedly with offers- and Natasha starts unobtrusively funneling more of her time towards S.H.I.E.L.D. than the Avengers. Technically she and Clint are still their agents, and merely freelance with the Avengers when time allows, but frequently Clint is the only Avenger on S.H.I.E.L.D. payroll who actually shows up for fights.

                Then Natasha joins Strike, too.

 *

“Good to finally have you back,” May says from her place in the doorway, arms crossed as she watches Natasha snap on her widow’s bites.

                “Word travels that fast, huh?” she says, and glances up at the older agent. May is perhaps twelve years her senior, one of the most accomplished field agents, and the one responsible for refining Natasha’s hand-to-hand skills to accommodate for less… lethal outcomes.

                “The Black Widow’s back from her stint with the Avengers- who doesn’t know?” May laughs. “You look good.”

                “Believe it or not, working with superhumans is less dangerous than it seems.”

                “Well, you make it sound like a dream come true.”

                Natasha straps her holster to her thigh. “What about you? Obviously no longer a pencil-pusher.”

                “I was… convinced, to get back into the field. By a very persuasive someone.”

                “The suit looks good on you,” Natasha says, and it’s true. May’s tall, limber body looks as dangerous as a coiled snake in the S.H.I.E.L.D. standard-issue blue field suit, thick black boots and comms on both cuffs, the logo on her shoulder.

                “Same,” May shoots back. Natasha has to suppress a thrill of pleasure at the compliment. The S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform is still like an old friend, even after weeks of working exclusively out of the stealth suit Toni made her. S.H.I.E.L.D. has always represented stability in her life.

                Or rather, Clint has. S.H.I.E.L.D. is just the platform upon which he stands, one that, it seems to Natasha, has begun to rot from the inside.

“You know, Hill offered me the spot on Strike,” May says, mouth pulled into an anticipatory almost-smile. Natasha knows that look- May practically pioneered Natasha’s preferred method for blowing off mission steam. The method that doesn’t involve a condensed exercise routine and a hundred pushups.

                “I’m not surprised. I _am_ surprised that you didn’t take it,” Natasha says.

                “Well, Steve Rogers… I wasn’t exactly jumping up and down to say no,” May says, brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear. “But you never really left S.H.I.E.L.D., and I knew that Fury’s wanted you on Strike since before New York.”

                “How altruistic of you.”

                May shrugs.

                “Just take care of yourself, alright?” May says, and Natasha frowns at her. It isn’t often that May expresses concern- she is of the strict belief that field agents are big boys and girls, and can take care of themselves- but Natasha knows to always take it to heart. May doesn’t have her own mythology in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s ranks for no reason. “Torn between the Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. isn’t an easy job by itself, and I imagine that Rogers is more than eye candy at this point.”

                In other words, _Watch your heart._

Natasha only listens because it’s May. Because when The Cavalry speaks, you tattoo it on your skin.

                “Who pinned your heart on your sleeve?” Natasha says, intentionally brusque as she brushes past May and into the hallway. She has mission briefing in fifteen minutes. It’ll be her first mission on Strike with Steve.

                “Coulson’s things were just cleared for release. They went to his cellist.”

                Natasha swallows.

                “Just watch yourself. Strike is far from what it was conceived to be, and the world isn’t as simple as it was. Even by your standards. Things around here… they’re changing. Adapting.”

                “Adapt or die,” Natasha says, quirking her eyebrow. May smirks and shakes her head, then turns on her heel.

                “Kiss Captain America for me!” she calls behind her shoulder.

                _I don’t think anyone’s going to be kissing him for a while,_ she thinks, to her own mild amusement.

                Making her way down the hall, she pulls on the collar of her suit and ignores the looks from every agent or technician or pencil-pusher that passes. It really _has_ been a while since she’s been back in the Triskellion.

                She tries not to think about the fact that she suddenly, inexplicably, feels homesick.

 *

_Rumlow._

_Rogers._

_Romanoff._

_STRIKE._

                There is only ever the next mission. Natasha begins to get used to seeing Clint more on the TV roughing it with the rest of the Avengers than working beside him, sends him a brief text every once and a while- emojis included- but it doesn’t compensate for the empty spaces in her head.

                It’s not _weird,_ per se, working with Steve. Just different.

                The kind of different that reminds her frequently why she chose to officially join Strike in the first place. Because it’s painfully obvious Steve feels like he’s losing people again, like it’s his fault Toni took her winning attitude out of Earth’s atmosphere.

                He’s too quiet now. He gives himself the hardest tasks, the ones he executes flawlessly but with more strain than is necessary Natasha knows. He doesn’t seem surprised when he figures out that Natasha’s mission parameters differ greatly from his own- _“You’re my eyes and ears, Natasha. You get the intel with minimal collateral damage but you do what you need to to keep it out of the other guys’ hands.”_ \- just disappointed.

                She doesn’t ask if he trusts her, because they’ve been Avengers together, and he would have walked off of Strike if he didn’t like her being there. But he’s not comfortable, and he’s angry and quiet and she’s noticed that he doesn’t draw as much as he used to.

                Before she left, Clint told her that he understood why she was going.

 *

It’s their third mission when it finally happens. When Rumlow misses a shot- _fuckfuck it went wide, Romanofflookout!_ \- and they are two seconds behind where they should be. When fire sears through Natasha’s shoulder, her gun arm falling limp in the middle of the firefight, all she can think is that she’s going to die because she had a little sympathy for Steve Rogers.

                She finishes her mission, Fury’s intel- the no-good dirty kind that the World Security Council will never know he has, the kind that Steve Rogers would give a Heroic Mom Lecture about if he knew it existed- safely stowed in her boot, and slumps against the outside wall of the transport jet. Her vision’s shorting in and out, black dots dancing because she knows she’s lost a pretty fair amount of blood. The bullet wound hurts like a bitch, but at least it went clean through.

                The sound of feet crunching on foliage just barely reaches her over the roaring of the blood in her ears, the steady whoosh of her breathing as she forces her body to pretend there’s nothing wrong with it. The hand over her wound presses harder and she smothers a hiss.

                “Natasha!” Steve. Of course it’s Steve- she’s “Romanoff” to everyone else.

                “Look who’s late,” she grins, and it hurts, like pulling on her lips is pulling on the torn flesh held together by her skintight suit.

                There are two warm hands on either side of her shoulders, a sharp intake of breath. He’s seen the scarlet on her uniform then, even in the dark. Or felt it on his fingers. She can’t remember the last time she actually got hurt on assignment, and it chafes on her pride. The heat coming from his hands does something else to her entirely.

                “I’m about to fall on you,” she says in a quick, breathy rush right before her legs give out beneath her in a cascade of pins and needles. Steve turns sharply so that her face doesn’t end up smacking straight into the star on his chest, rather coming to rest- hard- on his shoulder while he turns her and scoops her up bridal style.

                Above her the sky is dark and there are still black spots in her eyes, but she can see the bright lights of the loading bay hatch as the plane opens. Rollins took his place in the cockpit already, then.

                “You ever carry Barnes like this?” she asks, for lack of anything better to do. She counts seven other gaits following them into the plane, which means they all made it, which means the mission was a success. Nothing to do but wait till they’re back at the helicarrier for debriefing and hopefully R&R before Hill whacks another file their way.

                “Actually, it was usually the other way around,” Steve says, laying her gently down on one of the retractable cots attached to the far wall. There’s the sound of him opening the med kit, the scritch of tape and the pop of a pill container. “Before I got the serum, that is.”

                “It’s still hard to imagine you small,” Natasha murmurs. The plane gives a shuddering jerk beneath them as they rise.

                “Well I know you’ve seen the pictures,” Steve says. Natasha bites her tongue to keep from making an undignified sound when Steve unzips the front of her suit and pushes down the sleeve so her shoulder is exposed in all its bloody glory. Beneath that, she knows, is a hole about the size of a quarter that feels about the size of a baseball. He drapes a thin emergency blanket over her to cover everything up to her neck, bless him.

                “Here, have a pill.”

                Swallowing. Her throat is dry.

                “You should have waited for us at the scene instead of running off like that,” Steve frowns over her, blue eyes flicking to her face briefly before returning to focus on cleaning her wound. It stings. His blonde hair is haloed by the plane lights.

                _Bozhe, he is handsome_.

                “You guys were being slow. Besides, there were still people waving guns.”

                “I suppose your plan to patch it up yourself hit a snag when you didn’t make it farther than the outside of the plane?”

                “I do admit there was a flaw in my logic, but I don’t get to be lectured by the guy who’s been caught on video running _towards_ exploding structures instead of away from them.”

                “Some things you just have to do. For freedom.” His tone is so serious, his blue eyes absolutely grave, that Natasha has to blink up at him and wonder if she got hit harder than she thought and has begun to hallucinate due to pain.

                “Did you just… make an America joke?”

                His smile could probably power an orphanage for an entire year. Or end a war. Or something else sentimental that has to do with puppies and flowers.

                “95, not deaf. Also, I know sign language.”

                He’d known about her and Clint making America jokes to each other. And probably heard them, too, when they were shared with the non-deaf members of the team.

                _Der'mo_.

                Not ten feet away from Steve and Natasha the rest of the team are joking together, patching up minor scrapes or comparing the size of bruises, congratulating each other on a job well done. Doesn’t really ever matter what the job is, just that they get it done because they’re the best S.H.I.E.L.D. has to offer.

                But then Steve is taping the bandage, pressing on her skin, and the black dots are back. Out of reflex, her hand shoots up to curl around his arm, nails digging into the woven fiber of his dark ops suit. It’s a far cry from the normal stars and stripes, even the muted navy grey version, and _he_ is a far cry from the man she’s used to having patch her up after these types of things.

                “I’ll start telling them in Farsi,” she gasps, and elicits a small chuckle from Steve. It’s a nice sound.

                Then the pill she took earlier begins to take effect, hard-core S.H.I.E.L.D. drugs at work- not for public consumption.

                “Yeah yeah, settle in for your nap,” he says, lowering himself down onto the edge of the cot and ducking his head. “It’s a long way home.”

                It’s not the best sleep she’s had recently, but it’ll do. Steve’s hand on her leg is warm.

 *

It’s the mission after that one, the one that ended with Natasha deliriously ruminating on Steve’s good looks, when she realizes that it can’t always be guns and lame jokes between them. Actually, that mission was an anomaly- a rare calm in the storm of Steve Rogers’ tumultuous falling-out with Toni Stark that has left him deprived of artistic inspiration, quiet to the point of sullen, prone to workouts that even make her flinch whenever she passes him in the S.H.I.E.L.D. R&R gym murdering sandbags or sparring with Ward, who can never keep up as much as he’d like to.

                So mission four rolls around, and it would be a success except for the fact that it’s _Steve_ who’s half a second behind his timing, stupidly, and ends up having to take out twenty more guys than was strictly necessary in pursuit of saving the mission. By the time it’s done they’re all sweaty, exhausted, and the especially unlucky have been bathed in more than their fair share of blood.

                And Steve is _angry._ Angry, Natasha knows, because of the message he got that morning.

                Well, the Avengers got.

                _“Hey, Toni here… Peter says I should check in to let you guys know I haven’t died. Don’t really know why he cares, but he’s sort of the Captain around here… which has gotten some getting used to… But he let me fly around the circumference of a supernova the other day, I’ll have you know. It was_ great. _And I’m sending you all postcards of it. Apparently they have those on Xandar. Anyways, we’ve got a band of intergalactic pirates to take out before they decide to take their act to the Nine Realms- you’re welcome, Thor- so I’ve gotta go. Hey Bruce, stay strong for me Green Bean, and do good science. Clint I swear to God if you build another nest on the top of the tower I’ll personally laser your ass from space. I expect you to keep an eye on Pepper for me whenever you can, Nat._

_“Oh and also Peter’s codename is Starlord, he likes the Seahawks, and ismynewboyfriend kbye.”_

The proverbial middle finger aimed directly at Steve wasn’t exactly hard to miss, nor was the scent of his- furious- pining when the transmission ended.

                When Steve tries to walk onto the plane afterwards, the front of his suit riddled with bullets- that have left massive bruises, Natasha’s sure- a cut on his forehead, and a scowl the size of the A on Avengers Tower, Natasha puts her hands on her hips and silently dares him to move past her.

                “Mission’s over,” he says evenly. Well, tries to. She has to give him credit for effort but he’s practically jumping out of his skin so she knows it’s a miracle he hasn’t jogged back into the compound singing the national anthem at the top of his lungs, just for another excuse to fight someone. Granted, she’s feeling a little bloodthirsty too- there was another near-miss this time, and getting shot twice in the same stretch of time doesn’t suit her. Adrenaline still high, battle fury raring, any way she puts it.

                One of the soldiers she shot to keep her presence quiet couldn’t have been older than fifteen. She forgot what it was like to deal with terrorists who didn’t believe in age requirements.

                “But you’re not done,” she says quietly. “Are you.” Not a question.

                When he looks up his blue eyes are on fire, and she can feel the heat like a brand on her body. The healing bullet wound on her shoulder begins to throb.

                His Adam’s apple jumps when he swallows, looks away, his profile silhouetted by the plane lights. Behind them Natasha can feel the rest of the team trying to be discrete and failing.

                “Rollins, drop us outside of Yalta and then head back,” Natasha orders as she turns and strides back into the jet’s belly. She gets a thumbs-up from the pilot’s chair. “Tell Fury I’ll arrange transport for Captain Rogers and myself.”

                “He’ll want an explanation,” Rollins says, not looking at her as Natasha settles into the co-pilot’s seat. Let’s see how long Steve can go in the air without hitting something.

                “Tell him ‘Budapest.’”

                Rollins knows better than to probe any further, and merely angles the plane south.

 *

They’re barely into the hotel room- it’s nice, expensive, a big bed and luxurious carpet beneath her feet- before they’re going at each other, all mouths and fingers practically steaming because _Steve is so angry he’ll_ explode and Natasha will never admit that she is _lonely so lonely_ and super-charged from a near-death experience that has put everything into frighteningly clear perspective.

Then he's pressing closer closer his fingers winding in her hair, mouth _desperatehungry_ for something that doesn't taste like gunfire and smoke and screaming and messages from a million miles away.

There are so few words spoken between them, just Natasha's muttered "stupid buckles" and Steve's gentle " _Natasha_ ," every hurt melting away when it's finally skin to skin. She huffs when he kisses the base of her throat. He moans at the pressure applied from the base of his spine and up by her clever, clever hands once she has the top of his suit down.

Adrenaline doesn't hits Steve like a normal person- it shoots through him like a kick in the gut, a fire that tells him he needs to run until he collapses and then run some more, and Natasha knows this. She is the wall he slams into when that isn't an option- _now_ \- and she takes the role with pleasure, as Steve isn't thinking too clearly. Just that he needs to get out of his own skin before his heart gives out and he’s _angryhurtexausted_ and needs to _do something_.

It’s been a stressful week. Hell, it’s been a stressful year, and the events of a month ago are the icing on the cake.

"Fuck your suit, Steve," Natasha mutters, biting him playfully on the lip and eliciting a noise from him that she didn't even know he could make and, clearly, neither did he.

"That's not exactly what I was going for," he says. She pulls back a little, surprise in her laugh.

"Bedroom humor. Nice." Then she's yanking him to her by the hair and their mouths are crashing together bodies barely getting to the bed before Steve's serum-enhanced vision has memorized every inch of her.

 *

He wakes up warm, and unstrung for perhaps the first time since Toni left.

                _No, don’t touch that thought. Don’t you dare, Steve._

Her red hair is fanned out across his chest, cheek pressed over his heart, her fingers spread over the hollows of his ribs. Not really hollow, nothing about him is these days, but it feels like every inch of him would be empty without her heat pressed against a body that feels like glass. And the anger isn’t gone, but it’s quiet. He feels like now, of all times, he could maybe draw again and not fear breaking the pencil.

                “Breakfast will be up in an hour,” Natasha murmurs against his skin. He didn’t know she was awake, and indeed her eyes are still closed, breathing still deep and peaceful. “There’s a sketchbook on the bedside table…”

                 There is. With a red bow wrapped around it, and a new pack of colored pencils labeled in what looks like Russian. Slanting his gaze back to Natasha, Steve swallows and almost doesn’t notice how his arm tightens around her waist.

                “… If you want it.”

                He hates to move, because the ocean view from the broad windows is gorgeous and it’s warm and actually slept through the night- well, some of it- but he works his way into a sitting position anyway. Natasha rolls off of him with a small huff and smacks her hands into the spare pillow, blinking up at the creamy paint swirls on the ceiling. Steve’s knee-jerk reaction is to look away when he realizes that half of her body is completely exposed, but it’s a ridiculous thought considering how he spent most of his time the night before.

                Still.

                Something about it seems wrong, and Natasha must know it because she turns towards him, resting her head on one hand, and letting her arm fall to cover her chest.

                “How’d you know?” he asks. _That I stopped drawing._

“I notice things, Steve,” she murmurs, with a half-hearted shrug he can feel in the mattress.

                And that’s it for him, he doesn’t know why. It just is. He gets up stiffly and reaches for his fallen undergarments, pulling them on and hating the feeling of being unclean again. He can’t look at her.

                _It’s only been a month. So what if she has a new space-boyfriend, you still…_

_It still seems wrong._

There’s a soft hand on his shoulder, warm.

                “Stop it,” Natasha commands.

                “I’m not doing anything.” His suit is crumpled on the floor by the bathroom, but Natasha’s fingers tighten and he doesn’t move.

                “You’re feeling guilty and pining at the same time and it’s hurting you, so _stop it_.” Her voice is low and he’d never heard it be seductive until the night before, because now all he can imagine is her worried face. She hides it, but Natasha’s good at worrying. She’s good at other things, too.

                _Stop._

“I just…” he runs a hand through his hair, remarkably at a loss for words. “I feel like-”

                “You used me?” she says, as though she’s plucked the words straight out of his mind. He’d find it eerie if he hadn’t known her for the past few months, precious few of those when they were still Avengers. “Like you owe me chocolates and flowers and an apology card?”

                It sounds ridiculous, coming from her.

                “That’s ridiculous, Steve.”

                She winds her hands around his torso, fingers splaying across his skin, palms flat over his stomach and abdomen and Steve suppresses a low groan.

                “I’m a big girl, I make my own choices.”

                “What about Clint?” The words are out before he can stop them courtesy of the famous absentee Rogers brain-filter. Being around Toni so much must have rubbed off on him.

                Her right pointer finger traces circles on his stomach, and when she sighs her warm exhale rolls across his skin, sending goosebumps in its wake.

                “It’s complicated.”

                “This didn’t just make it more complicated?”

                This time the sigh is the kind meant to hold words back. “Because I care about you, I won’t say her name, and I won’t use it in the same way you just used Clint.”

                The message is clear.

                “Breakfast will be here soon. Do you want to feel bad, or use the gift I got you?”

                _Want._

No one’s asked him what he wants in a long time. He suspects- _knows_ \- that the answer is too far away to hear him.

 *

They eat waffles with strawberry and champagne, thick imported syrup in glass cups. Steve draws Natasha’s silhouette in the broad windows with nothing but the whitest of sheets wrapped around her body, red hair fluttering around her shoulders. He laughs at her jokes as they speed towards the airport in a car of questionable price that she put on her Avengers card, like everything else.

                He draws Toni’s face all the way home and knows he’s got it worse than he’ll ever admit to anyone, except Nat already knows, so she just curls up against him in first class and tells him that there’s nothing worse than love.

**Author's Note:**

> There may or may not be a chapter two dealing with pregnancy/baby things at this point.  
> PLEASE leave a comment! I love for them, really I do, this is not an exaggeration.


End file.
